When I was little we had a red and white truck and lived off a dusty dirt road. My father used to let me sit in the steering wheel (with my legs through the holes) and "drive" the car while I held on, screeching the whole time. He was a police officer then and I was afraid he'd get in trouble. Even then he was teaching me to make my own rules.
When I was a little older he gave me a job picking up walnuts off the ground. We are nut growers -- I say "we" because I "worked" too. I hated that job more than anything because the black walnuts fleshy outsides would rot and turn black and my hands would be stained for days. I had to wear dish washing gloves to do it but often gave up because they were big and my hands were small. I got paid $2 a bag and the bags were bigger than me. My father like to tell the story off looking out to the trees and seeing me, sitting on my little stool, shoulders shaking with sobs because I was so unhappy. I'd sit there bawling my eyes out instead of just picking up the darn nuts. Even then I thought he was trying to get me to go the work he just didn't want to do, but I learned something. I learned that even big jobs can be accomplished if you chip away at them. And sometimes it gets messy.
We used to go camping in the summers with other families. My father pushed me to jump off the deck into the water when I was afraid and then grabbed me underwater like an octopus when I finally made the plunge. He thought it was funny and he was making me brave. What I ended up with was a lifelong fear of "things" in water. Even swimming pools. Good job on that one.
When my parents got divorced my father moved away and that's where our story gets complicated. I can only imagine how difficult it is to parent a child from across the country. What I'm an expert in is being that child. The child who misses phone calls, missed her dad at her graduations, and had her step-father intimidate her teenage boyfriends and teach her how to change a tire. The distance really did separate us in every way for a very long time and even with my amazing step-dad stepping into the void, I had a father-shaped hole in my heart. It took a long time but I think I understand it now and we are in each other's lives again. It was hard fought and can be prickly and complicated, but it's always just been that way.
Now my father is sick. It's sudden and surprising and I don't have any idea if it's something he'll suffer with for a long time or if I'll be able to be thankful for him seeing next Thanksgiving. I just don't know. I find myself bursting into tears a few times a day, sometimes just because a random thought went through my head. It struck me that this story I've got in my head about how the relationship that has defined so many others may soon have an end. I am so grateful that we found a way to be important to each other again.
Here's what I do know: this is something everyone faces and it's just my turn. I've lost two very significant people in my almost-forty years. Just two. My grandparents are all gone but they lived long lives and we were grateful for the lives they lived. This is different. Maybe he gets to teach me one more thing. Maybe it's time to let go of the past and the hurt and the scorecard. Maybe it's time to practice grace and compassion. And maybe even learn to say goodbye.